


Not the Road to World Peace

by GotTheSilver



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friendship, Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 09:17:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: There’s leftover pizza and he grabs it, turning and looking for a pan to heat it up in.  “Not the weirdest thing anyone’s ever done in here,” he says absently as he climbs on the counter to reach the pan he wants to use.  “Why does Steve put these up so damn high?” Tony mutters to himself, grabbing the pan and the lid before sliding back down to the floor.“Just eat it cold,” Bucky says from his position on the ground, sipping at his drink.  The mug he’s using has a bright pink pattern on it, something Bruce picked up from a thrift store, and Tony blinks at it for a moment before opening the pizza box.





	Not the Road to World Peace

**Author's Note:**

> because I'm just always gonna be bitter that I got robbed of Tony and Bucky being buddies in the mcu tbqh.
> 
> trope bingo square: unexpected friendship.
> 
> Steve/Tony background established relationship.
> 
> don't ask where this would fit into mcu canon, it wouldn't.
> 
> mostly for Steph.

Tony’s mostly got used to stumbling across people in the mansion kitchen at all hours of the day and night; not everyone Avengers associated lives there, but even so, they all seem to congregate in the kitchen whenever they’re at the mansion. Jarvis once told him that the kitchen is the heart of every home, and as a kid Tony got that, understood it because the kitchen was where Jarvis sat him on the counter as he made grilled cheese; where he could sneak Oreos from the jar that was set just close enough to the edge for Tony to grab, and where he once found his mom cooking up linguine and clams on a whim that made the kitchen smell like the sea.

Getting older, however, just meant a kitchen that was always stocked but never used. Food became take out, greasy burgers, and a shitload of disappointing tiny meals at fancy restaurants in between downing whatever liquor he could get his hands on. The most Tony ever made in his twenties was coffee and cereal, and he’s pretty sure he used expired milk the one time he made cereal. He’d been coming off a three day binge at the time so, looking back, he’s still not sure if it was the milk or the drugs that caused him to end up with his head in a toilet.

Now, though, the kitchen in the mansion gets used. It’s disconcerting, at times, to walk in there and smell things that haven’t filled the kitchen in years. The first time Steve made himself a grilled cheese, the sense memory was so strong Tony stopped dead in the doorway before Steve looked up, caught the look on his face, and asked if he wanted one. Tony did, and Steve went ahead and made one for him as well, both of them leaning against the counter, shoulders pressed together as they ate.

It’s comforting to know that whenever he makes his way to the kitchen, someone will probably be there, and Tony guesses that’s why, after jerking himself out of a nightmare, after showering to get the sweat and smell of burning ash off himself, he’s heading there now. Usually, Steve would be there when he woke, pressing a warm hand against Tony’s skin, reminding him where he is and that’s he’s safe, but Steve’s been on a mission with Natasha and Clint for three days now, and so the kitchen is the next best thing at 4am when he can still taste ash in his mouth.

As he flicks the lights on, there’s a noise from the corner, and Tony looks over to see Bucky sitting on the floor, one hand wrapped around a mug. Pausing in the doorway, Tony raises an eyebrow. “Were you sitting in the dark drinking—” he cuts himself off and sniffs, recognising the smell. “Hot cocoa?”

“What of it?”

Tony shrugs as he walks in, scratching his stomach with one hand as he opens the fridge. There’s leftover pizza and he grabs it, turning and looking for a pan to heat it up in. “Not the weirdest thing anyone’s ever done in here,” he says absently as he climbs on the counter to reach the pan he wants to use. “Why does Steve put these up so damn high?” Tony mutters to himself, grabbing the pan and the lid before sliding back down to the floor.

“Just eat it cold,” Bucky says from his position on the ground, sipping at his drink. The mug he’s using has a bright pink pattern on it, something Bruce picked up from a thrift store, and Tony blinks at it for a moment before opening the pizza box.

“It’s 4am,” Tony says. “If I wanted to eat cold pizza, I’d go into the city to the slice for a buck place on 33rd and eat there.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, pushing himself to his feet, mug still clutched in his hand. “Then what’s with all the fuss, can’t you throw it in that thing.”

“The microwave? No. That way lies soggy crust and molten hot toppings.” Heating up the pan, Tony grabs a slice and puts it in, before putting the lid on over it. “This is the only way to heat up pizza. Even ones from Gino’s, and really, who keeps ordering from there?”

“Clint,” Bucky says. “So, why are you awake at 4am and heating up pizza?”

Tony pauses, watching the lid of the pan cloud over. “The usual,” he says, trying to inject a casual note into his tone and knowing he’s failing. “Only—Steve’s not here to—well. You?”

“What do you think?”

“Need anything?”

Bucky shrugs, mouth pressed together in a thin line. “Company? And a slice?”

“That I can do.”

They stand there in silence as the pizza heats up, the weak early morning light casting long shadows across the room. When it’s ready, Tony takes the lid off the pan and slides the slice onto a plate. Grabbing another one from the box, he sets it in the pan, the familiar routine soothing the last of the tremors running through his body. “Eat it,” he says, gesturing to the plate and then to Bucky. “Don’t let it go cold again, this method only really works once and then you’ll be stuck with soggy microwaved mush.”

There’s a snort from Bucky, but out of the corner of his eye Tony sees him snatch the plate away, and the pleasantly surprised noise that comes after Bucky’s taken a bite makes the corners of Tony’s mouth turn up. “I’m too much of a gentleman to say I told you so,” he says, keeping an eye on his own slice. “But at least now you know how to properly heat up pizza.”

When his slice is done, Tony sits at the table with it, his fingers still shaking slightly as he picks it up. Bucky’s watching him, but he doesn’t say anything, just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grabs another slice from the box, standing up and throwing it in the pan. “Lid goes on, yeah?”

“Yep,” Tony says around a mouthful. “Makes the cheese melt.”

“You see a therapist?”

Tony pauses, chewing on the last of his slice before swallowing. “Nope,” he says eventually. “Probably should, but—the things we see? The things we’ve had done to us? Think anyone can understand that outside of, well, us?” Tony gets up and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, leaning against the counter. “Eight minutes for the slice, give or take. You think you need therapy?”

Bucky shrugs, staring down at the pan intently. “Figure most people do now. Didn’t, back then, wasn’t the thing to talk about what was troubling you.”

“Self help or narcissism, there’s a question for the world,” Tony mutters. “Think you’d have a good reason to seek it out, if you wanted. Pizza should be done.” Tony watches as Bucky methodically checks the slice over before sliding it onto a plate and holding it out.

“You’re the expert,” Bucky says, a faint smile on his face. “Tell me if I suck.”

Tony looks down at the plate for a good thirty seconds, he can feel the time ticking in his head as he does, but then he shrugs, takes the plate and sits at the table with it. It burns the roof of his mouth as he bites into it, but it’s greasy and cheesy with a crisp crust, and that’s all he really wants. “Good work,” he says. “You’ve successfully learnt how to heat up crappy pizza.”

“Thanks, asshole,” Bucky says mildly.

“No really, you should be proud,” Tony says, leaning back in his chair, the taste of ash dissipating with each bite he takes. “You now have the cooking skills of a college student. Next, ramen.”

Bucky sits down at the table with his own reheated slice and aims a light kick at Tony’s ankle. “You gonna try and sleep again?”

“Uh, no,” Tony says, fiddling with the water bottle before twisting the cap off and taking a long swig. “After—I can’t, really, unless Steve’s here.” Flashing a tight smile at Bucky, Tony taps his fingers against the table. “Workshop. It helps. You?”

“Punching bag. Yoga.”

“Body and brain?”

“Something like that,” Bucky says quietly. “It’s—I can exhaust my body, but my brain keeps going. I see everyone that I’ve—and it’s—” Pressing his lips together he leans back and stares at the wall. “I’m doing better, I know I am, but—”

“It doesn’t leave you.”

“Exactly.”

There’s more light coming through the windows now, a soft orange that’s casting the kitchen in a hazy warm glow. The coffee maker comes on with a familiar gurgle, and Tony raises a hand in goodbye as Bucky slips out of the kitchen to head to the gym. Pouring himself a coffee, Tony stands there, feeling the sun on his skin as he drinks his coffee, the cold of the night slowly leaving him. Looking around the kitchen, he spots Bucky’s mug still on the counter, the pan needing to be washed, Natasha’s collection of herbal teas in a glass cabinet, the spice rack that appeared one day that Tony still doesn’t know where from, and—it’s not like it was. It’s not Jarvis fixing his wounds with a grilled cheese, it’s not Tony climbing the counters to get cookies, but it’s also not him throwing up whatever he ate the night before, or finding rotting weeks old take out in the fridge.

It’s late night bonding, it’s where Steve kissed him for the first time, it’s the scene of far too many food fights given how old they all are, and maybe it’s something a little like home. Or, at least, it’s getting there.

**Author's Note:**

> "you learn a lot about someone when you share a meal together" - my other favourite tony.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://gotthesilver.tumblr.com/post/178249650302/new-fic-not-the-road-to-world-peace-tony)
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/starstarked/status/1042439166271926272)


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